Dylan seemed good. He was even bouncing up the stairs in his trademark way. We’d finally figured out his meds and had reason to believe things would get even better. I was so grateful for his renaissance of vitality. He was good all week until Thursday. Adam left to spend the night in LA because of work. Dylan was perfect all day. Then, at around 11:30 or 12 at night, he started whining. He whines a lot, and it’s hard to tell what it means. I thought he was upset about Adam being gone.
I am truly sorry, Amy. Pets somehow bring out the best in people, not sure how that works, but it does. Maybe because pets are honest and they can't be any other way?
It's hard to say. They seem to love in a way that's less conditional. They seem to be more accepting of difficulties of life and more willing to embrace the beauty of it. I think they serve as a daily reminder of what's most important.
What a beautiful piece, Amy. You can feel your ache for Dylan in every line.
Can relate to this particular tragedy in my own experience of (different) grief: "As time goes on, I’m less pained by the fact of his death and more pained by the way time keeps moving forward. Every minute increases the distance between me and the last time I saw him."
When my eyes clear, I'll reread your piece to learn from your writing.
I first teared up when you pushed Dylan out the bedroom door so you could sleep. My Codey, in his last weeks, would often keep me up or cry for me to take him out, over and over, when I was trying--needing to sleep. So his last night, he was crying, trying to get me up, and I, not realizing that THIS time he really really needed me, tried to sleep through it. Even that last morning, because he had had episodes of being weak, not wanting to move and then snapping out of it, it took me a couple of hours to realize this time was different. He lay there staring at me, until I carried him into the car for the emergency vet. He sat next to me for the 20 minute ride. I carried him in, he vomited, just water, in my arms, and lost consciousness. The vet quickly gave me a little oxygen mask for him, to say goodbye. That was 11 months ago.
Your piece made, obviously, made my grief, and guilt, fresh again, though I never lost it.
I am sorry for your loss. Dylan was beautiful. I'm glad he sent you messages, helping you to begin healing.
Ellen, I'm so sorry. I know how much it hurts to wonder what they must've been thinking or feeling when they were near the end. It's easy for me to think about how I would've handled things differently if I'd known various things I couldn't have known at the time. It helps me to remember the better times and how happy we were together.
All I can say is that I relate to the ache that’s throughout this tribute. I’m aching with you. I also want to say that for a long time I felt wobbly in every facet of my life after we said goodbye to Georgia. She balanced me in a way that’s hard to replicate. Sending love. 🧡
I know this pain -- and it's complicated by how much of the world dismisses the relationships between us and other animals, but they are wrong and it is real -- thank you for sharing this.
I am truly sorry, Amy. Pets somehow bring out the best in people, not sure how that works, but it does. Maybe because pets are honest and they can't be any other way?
It's hard to say. They seem to love in a way that's less conditional. They seem to be more accepting of difficulties of life and more willing to embrace the beauty of it. I think they serve as a daily reminder of what's most important.
What a beautiful piece, Amy. You can feel your ache for Dylan in every line.
Can relate to this particular tragedy in my own experience of (different) grief: "As time goes on, I’m less pained by the fact of his death and more pained by the way time keeps moving forward. Every minute increases the distance between me and the last time I saw him."
Sending you a giant hug across the interwebs.
Thank you, Alicia.
I’m so sorry. Dylan was lucky to have you, and you him from the sounds of it.
Thank you. I was very lucky. I'm so grateful to have had him.
I am crying as I write this.
When my eyes clear, I'll reread your piece to learn from your writing.
I first teared up when you pushed Dylan out the bedroom door so you could sleep. My Codey, in his last weeks, would often keep me up or cry for me to take him out, over and over, when I was trying--needing to sleep. So his last night, he was crying, trying to get me up, and I, not realizing that THIS time he really really needed me, tried to sleep through it. Even that last morning, because he had had episodes of being weak, not wanting to move and then snapping out of it, it took me a couple of hours to realize this time was different. He lay there staring at me, until I carried him into the car for the emergency vet. He sat next to me for the 20 minute ride. I carried him in, he vomited, just water, in my arms, and lost consciousness. The vet quickly gave me a little oxygen mask for him, to say goodbye. That was 11 months ago.
Your piece made, obviously, made my grief, and guilt, fresh again, though I never lost it.
I am sorry for your loss. Dylan was beautiful. I'm glad he sent you messages, helping you to begin healing.
Ellen, I'm so sorry. I know how much it hurts to wonder what they must've been thinking or feeling when they were near the end. It's easy for me to think about how I would've handled things differently if I'd known various things I couldn't have known at the time. It helps me to remember the better times and how happy we were together.
Yes, it is the unconditional love they give us. And that, if we seem to fail them we can't explain. And they love us anyway.
And, sort of like you said, we honor them by remembering: the grief, and the good times. And how each "pet" was unique.
They are great teachers because they naturally uphold values, like unconditional love, that are hard for us.
All I can say is that I relate to the ache that’s throughout this tribute. I’m aching with you. I also want to say that for a long time I felt wobbly in every facet of my life after we said goodbye to Georgia. She balanced me in a way that’s hard to replicate. Sending love. 🧡
I’m so sorry Amy
I’m so sorry for the loss of your fur baby. You’ve written a beautiful tribute.
Thank you so much.
I know this pain -- and it's complicated by how much of the world dismisses the relationships between us and other animals, but they are wrong and it is real -- thank you for sharing this.
Thank you, Amy.